Steven James - The Knight

I stopped walking. “So thirteen years ago in the Midwest. Was it you or Basque?”

“It wasn’t me. But the crimes drew my interest.” He came toward me.

Just a little longer. “You were a fan.”

“No. A competitor. For an audience. Like I told you on Saturday, the articles were my scouting report.” He grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the platform that hung one meter below us in the shaft that was wired to blow. “Now, it’s time for story number ten.”

I let him lead me. “And Basque’s trial-you loaded the gun?”

“Last month in the evidence room.”

When we got to the edge he took out the detonator. “Climb down,” he said.

I didn’t move. “Before I do I have a small word of advice for you, Kurt.”

“What’s that?”

“Never leave a handcuffed man who knows how to pick locks alone with the wire spring of his Maglite.”

And then, I was on him.

A look of shock flashed across his face as I knocked the gun from his hand and punched him in the jaw as hard as I could, just like I’d done with Basque.

And it felt just as good.

Kurt stumbled backward, then straightened up. “All right, let’s do this thing.” I was about to go for his gun when he flicked out his straight razor. He tapped the detonator’s screen, and the countdown began.: 29 : 28

“Time to end the story, Pat.”

He rushed me, sliced at me, but I leapt to the side. I grabbed his forearm, and as he drove the razor blade toward me, I pivoted backward and both of us tumbled onto the platform.

We crashed onto the boards, and he managed to hang on to the straight razor, but the detonator spun from his hand.

I saw the screen. : 23

He swiped the blade at my neck, but I pushed him off me and scrambled to my feet.

I was on the wrong side of the platform, trapped in the corner farthest from the tunnel.

He held the razor against one end of the rope that passed through the cam. Severed it. The platform teetered but held.

It would drop if he cut the other end. : 20

He eased backward toward the ground so he could get off the platform before cutting the rope. “Good-bye, Pat.”

“Bye, Kurt.”

I leapt and grabbed the wooden beam holding the pulleys, then swung my legs up and kicked him with both feet, hard, in the chest. : 17

He slammed backward onto the platform, and before he could get up, I lifted my feet to the ceiling, just like when I’m rock climbing. I planted one foot against the cam holding the end of the rope and the other against the release lever. Kicked hard. Wedged it all the way open.

And the platform dropped. : 13

“No!” Kurt’s scream slit through the air around me.

I kept the countdown going in my head, flung my legs to the side. Landed on the ground beside the shaft. : 10

Heard the solid crunch of impact from the bottom of the shaft.

“I’m coming for you!” he hollered. He didn’t sound seriously hurt.

I ran to Cliff, dragged him toward the bend. : 06

Around the corner. : 04

The explosion would be deafening. I knelt beside him. : 02

Pressed my knees against his ears: 01

– squeezed my hands over mine.

Boom.

A thunderous crash, a sweep of sound.

Then, air choking me. Dust. Dirt. Rocks falling around me.

A crack against my head.

And everything went black.

53 minutes later

Eyes closed.

Movement beneath me. A thousand buzz saws whirring in my head.

A slight sway, the ground bouncing. Or maybe it wasn’t the ground. Maybe it was all a dream, another dream. I groaned and heard a voice, sweet and close, a woman’s voice. “Pat.”

My head was throbbing, pounding. “Lien-hua,” I mumbled.

“It’s me. I’m here.”

“I knew you’d come.” I opened my eyes to a blurry world, and saw her leaning over me. “We can still…” I whispered. “We’ll try again… I need you.”

But as I blinked away the dream, Lien-hua’s face became vapor, and Cheyenne’s appeared in its place. Behind her I saw metal walls. A ceiling. Shelves of first aid supplies. We were inside an ambulance. “I’m sorry,” I said softly. “I thought-”

“Shh.” She brushed her hand across my forehead. “It’s OK. Are you

… do you know where you are?”

I nodded slightly. “It was Kurt.” My voice sounded raw and dry.

“We know,” Cheyenne said. “Cliff woke up before you did. He told us everything.” She shook her head in disbelief. “It’s unfathomable.”

“Yes.” Even though I’d had more time than she had to process everything, I was still reeling from the fact that Kurt was the killer.

I tested my limbs. Tried to move. Other than my aching head, I seemed to be all right. A paramedic sat beside Cheyenne.

I gave her a faint smile. “So you found my trail?”

“It would have been hard to miss with those strips of first-aid tape at every intersection.”

“And Cliff, he’s OK?”

“He will be. Flight for Life took him.” She gestured around the vehicle. “You get the meat wagon instead.”

“Fair enough.” My thoughts were still muddy. “Cody?”

“I actually managed to make it to the Evergreen hospital without crashing. He’s doing all right-even thanked me for saving his life, so I guess we’re on talking terms again. Small miracles.”

The paramedic, a Latino man in his early thirties, laid two fingers against my wrist, checked my pulse. I had no idea how long I’d been out.

I tried to sort through the jumble of memories that were all fighting for my attention: entering the mine… following the trail of blood… talking with Kurt before the explosion…

“Dover’s Ridge,” I mumbled to Cheyenne, “look for Father Hughes on Dover’s Ridge, he’s chained to a pole… maybe a telephone pole from a power line, I don’t know… and Cheryl and Ari are in a storage… a self-storage… check under Ari’s name.” I could feel myself fading, but I saw Cheyenne pull out her cell. “I don’t know which… you have to check…”

“I will. Relax.”

I tried to think, but everything was becoming a blur. Faintly, I saw the paramedic lean over me while Cheyenne tapped at her phone. The fringes of the moment grew fuzzy.

And I sank into sleep again.

Dreams. Voices. Whispers. Promises made and broken.

Then, soft pressure on my right hand and I was opening my eyes again.

Still in the ambulance. Cheyenne beside me, her hand on mine. She was speaking with someone on the phone.

I eased my hand out from under hers and asked the paramedic how long I’d been out.

“Just a few minutes. We found you about an hour ago. Your climbing buddies on the high angle rescue team are good.”

I nodded.“What happened to me?” My voice still didn’t sound natural.

“A rock fell on your head. Looks like a concussion, other than that-”

“Prop me up.”

It took a little convincing, but finally he tilted the head end of the gurney upright. Cheyenne was still on the phone, so I asked to borrow his. Somewhat reluctantly, he handed it to me.

I tapped in cybercrime’s number. I was afraid I might go unconscious again, so as soon as Angela picked up I explained that I didn’t have much time to talk. “Tell me about Paul Lansing. I think he might be my stepdaughter’s biological father.”

She didn’t answer right away.

“Angela, what is it?”

“Here’s what you need to know for now: he lives in the mountains of Wyoming. No driver’s license. No bank accounts. He doesn’t own a phone or a computer; doesn’t use credit cards or pay utility bills.”

“He’s living off the grid,” I mumbled.

The ambulance slowed down.